That Hurt, I Bet
by Mister Buch
Summary: KotOR one-shot. This is a slightly odd short story about Revan's implanted memories of his life before he was assigned to the Endar Spire.


* * *

Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic

That Hurt, I Bet

* * *

The mysterious stranger takes a few tentative steps on the floor, having left his thick leather boots in the nearby trash bin. Grains of sand cling in their obdurate way to his soles and toes. The breeze is a little too cool, and it ruins the perfect vista, but he doesn't mind. Any kind of weather is nice after so long in space.

It feels good to ditch the boots. He doesn't feel like so much of an outsider now. No-one wears boots in Jilta Town. Hell, no-one wears boots in the whole of Deralia. Sighing from behind his nose, he curls his toes back and forth, pushing the sand and the natural air between them and reveling in the sensations.

After a moment the novelty is over and he looks up at the sun. He's seen a lot of suns in the last few years, but he's never seen one quite like Deralia's. The smooth, fat, red outline that encircles it seems more beautiful now than it ever did when he was a kid. He looks at it for awhile.

Behind him a voice swears. It sounds like Jerrol Jast's voice, but it's deeper. Angling his head, the familiar stranger starts to curve his lips into a forgotten smile. The voice appears again, from the mouth of a taller, fatter version of Jast. The voice swears again, speaks his name, then strings two more swears together in an insult. It's Jerrol all right. He's put on weight.

"How's it goin', Jerr?" The stranger is grinning now, and as Jerrol moves in closer the other man stands. There is an awkward moment where Jerrol is simultaneously taking in his old friend's appearance and internally debating whether to go in for a handshake or a hug. The decision is made for him, and a hasty pat on the back ends it.

"You're back a day early, boy!"

"S'right." The stranger smiles in his too-crisp, too-plain voice. "I wanted to surprise y'all," he says. He adds the 'y'all' to sound less like an offworlder.

"Yeah. Maybe you wanted to surprise Mai, huh?"

He tries to deny it, suddenly embarrassed.

"Maybe that's who you wanted to surprise! Maybe that's why you just happen to be on the beach in her part of town on your first day back?"

Finally, he laughs, and his friend laughs with him. Sitting down in the sand but tying their arms above their chests for warmth, the two men talk. The stranger demands all the news from home and after a half-hour in which he listens and grins and occasionally makes a sad face, he is gradually acquainted with all the goings-on that the community has witnessed since he left.

"You seen your folks yet, or is this your first stop?" Jerrol asks.

"This is it. Got off the shuttle a couple of hours ago and found my way here. Wanted to surprise Mai, like you said."

There is a scoff. "All these years and you still haven't gotten over her. _Damn, boy! _I got a bad feeling 'bout this."

"I just wanted to see her. She's my friend too, you know."

Jerr ignores him. "You know," he begins, grinning but without any sparkle in his eyes, "all that time in the Republic's messed-up your voice. You sound…" and then Jerr swears again.

"They have so many accents and languages over there," the stranger says dismissively, lost in his thoughts. During the time he has spent traveling throughout the Republic, he has heard hundreds of languages and learned eleven of them. When he touched down on Coruscant it just so happened that the first cheap bar he found was frequented by Twi'leks. After a couple of weeks he had a paying job and a working knowledge of Huttese. As he made a reputation for himself and ended up making trips to every corner of the Republic, he picked up the Aqualish, Duros and Wookiee tongues, too.

Jerrol eyes him with a little sadness, as if he no longer recognizes him. "So, how are things over in the Great Galactic Republic of Whatever?"

"Bad. They have a war starting up. It's a dark time for the Republic…"

"Again?"

Tipping over the next word he had intended in his speech, the stranger laughs. Since the war started, he hasn't once laughed. But Jerrol has a point; the closer one gets to the Galaxy's heart, the more dangerous it gets. Out here beyond the rim, things are so much simpler. "Yeah," he says. "Sith this time."

"Beg pardon?"

"Sith. Evil Jedi."

"Yeah? What happened to the Mendeloni… Menda…"

"Mandalorians," he says, correcting Jerrol. "They finished them off. Brand new war has started now."

"Huh," Jerrol says, as if the suffering of millions and the deaths of the core worlds means nothing. "You cut your hair pretty short."

"Yeah, they all wear it short out there. The humans, anyway."

The Republic means very little to the folks here in Jilta Town. It's a small farming community which grows vegetables for the rest of the region. The region makes machine parts for the country and the country helps govern the planet. The planet occasionally has dealings with a couple of other remote worlds in nearby systems but nobody has any need to bother Coruscant. So nobody knows what a Sith is, or has any real care about what a Mandalorian might be.

The mysterious stranger was born here in Jilta and spent his teen years just outside, in the cities. He always needed to know more, and he was never satisfied with just food and the ocean. Soon he outgrew even the constraints of the planet itself, and found himself wondering about what the Galactic Republic might offer him. After things went badly with Mai and she moved out of their apartment, he decided to buy a ship and cross the outer rim. His new life began immediately, and finally he was able to grow and learn as he wished to. His friends were sad to see him go, but they knew he had to. Now he only really misses Mai.

"I saw a Jedi knight last week, Jerr," he says, and he's staring at the sand.

"Wow. For real? Laser sword and everything?"

"Yeah. The thing was green. And it was dark out, so it looked like the whole guy was green. He was human. Long, dark hair, loose clothes. Reminded me of us. Jedi Master Cusmar Theron, his name was."

"And what trouble did you get into that brought this guy's attention?"

He smiles out of politeness and meets Jerrol's eyes again. "Actually my crew just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and we got ourselves involved with the war. There was a battle on a little planet near Corellia. Naturally we turned to get the hell out of there, but then we saw this guy with the green sword. Couldn't look away so I figured I'd jump ship and help the Republics out. Grabbed a blaster and…"

"Serious?"

"Yeah, I can handle myself pretty well," he says. He's being modest. In his early adventures, he had to learn to use a blaster pistol pretty quickly. He mastered it in the first year, and picked up a little vibroblade fencing too. Now he's deadly.

"You could see the green reflecting off his eyes, Jerr. Looked like something I'd never seen before. Battle was over in twenty minutes. He just ended it. Saved the colony."

Jerrol is respectfully silent, but his expression makes it clear he's uncomfortable. His friend cuts to the point of the story.

"I got to talking with him, and then I got to talking with the Republic fleet. They want me to sign up."

"Huh?"

"In the war against the Sith. Think I'm gonna do it, too. They really need help against these sons of…"

"What do they want _you_ for?"

The stranger shrugs off the question to avoid boasting. Jerrol knows there's something special about him. Everyone knows. He's smarter, more canny and faster than anyone he's ever known on Deralia. He excels at whatever he does, and nothing ever seems to fill him up. Even in the depths of Coruscant the people know he's better than average. He's a good scout, now; he has a way with words, a survivor's wit and an intuitive understanding of alien languages. They could really use him.

"And you're gonna risk your life for the sake of these Republics?" Jerrol inserts another swear word before 'Republics'.

"You didn't see this Jedi knight, Jerr. And the Republic is pretty much my home now. I don't want it to get taken over."

There is a long pause before Jerrol stands up and begins brushing sand of his legs. "C'mon, chief, let's go and see your girl. Maybe she can knock the Republic out of your head. You'll forget the war exists, man…"

They head off together in the direction of Mai's old home. Jerrol tells him that she now works at an Agricultural Supply Depot outlet, on a desk. It's near her old home, so they can surprise her at work right now.

As they approach the building, his thoughts of the war and the Sith and Master Theron start to fade away, replaced by bitter, enticing memories of the angry, standoffish girl he once loved. He thinks it's been too long since he last spoke with her. Too long since he last visited home. He never quite stopped caring for her. If only he could take her off-world with him.

If only he could forget about the war. About Darth Revan.

-

Suddenly time goes too fast, and he finds himself facing Mai, at her desk. She's beautiful, but she looks upset. Without looking up to see her old friend and lost love, she speaks.

"How can I help?" Her voice is distant and her accent seems wrong somehow.

But of course, she's gone. She's been taken. By Malak. She might be dead by now, for all he knows. Somewhere on the Star Forge being tortured and-

-

With a sharp, agonised shout, Revan wakes up and throws his body sideways.

He shouts out again, giving one final grunt as he blinks his eyes and tries to forget the dream. Quickly his darting eyes adjust to the dark and he surveys his surroundings. Seeing the familiar walls of his tiny, shared cabin on the _Ebon Hawk_, he remembers.

He is breathless and motionless. His leg still aches, reminding him of Saul Karath's electric torture device, and his throat is dry.

Memories of what happened on the _Leviathan_ breach his awareness and overrun his thoughts. The sickly feeling he has suffered in the bottom of his gut settles back in. The temporary reprieve of the dream is over. None of it ever happened. Jerrol never existed. Mai never existed. Neither did Master Theron, probably. His parents.

False memories, planted in him to make him obedient. For a second he allows white-hot, soothing anger to settle in, until he remembers who he is and what he has done. He remembers his real name. Statistics flash through his mind's eye; death tolls and the names of planets ravaged by the war. His war against the Republic. And he remembers what has happened to Bastila because of it all.

Revan's head is heavy and the sensation annoys him, but he can't focus. He feels drunk. He remembers being drunk on Deralia, but then immediately corrects himself. This keeps happening. He sternly tells himself that Deralia never happened. Though he recalls none of it, he now knows that he was raised as a Padawan learner on Dantooine. Has he ever _been_ drunk? Probably not. How does he know how it feels if the memories are only false?

It doesn't matter. The horrors of what Malak told him on that nightmarish ship don't matter. All that matters now is rescuing Bastila. It's his fault that she had to sacrifice herself. Bastila has been sacrificing herself ever since they met on Taris. He has taken so much from her, and now she's gone. She was right about everything.

Now he doesn't know where the hell she is, and he still has one more Star Map to find. On Korriban, of all places. Again, soothing anger rushes over him. For a moment, the maelstrom of torments he feels is gone. They're someone else's fault. He feels strong and he Force ebbs around his hands and his eyes.

Slipping out of the little bed, he rubs dry sleep from his sore sockets and stands up in his underclothes. A hastily-folded Jedi Robe lies at the bed's foot, and he puts it on, leaving it loose and untied. He makes for the door.

Bare, cold feet scrape across the metal floor on the _Hawk_ until he reaches the exit and departs the little sleeping quarters. Without warning, Revan's tired, stinging eyes are assaulted by bright light from the corridor. It hurts more than it should and he remembers all those silent tears the night before.

Juhani is there, at the end of the corridor. Hearing his shuffling, she sees him and looks away in disgust.

The mysterious stranger decides that he needs company for tonight. He needs some measure of peace if he's going to save her. He asks her something that he has been wondering. It's a trivial thing but he _just_ can't shake it off. "Do…?" he slurs, "Juhani, do you think… that Revan is my first name, or my last? I mean… do you _know?_ I know nothing about… about myself."

She ignores him, and he turns back around. His leg hurts more than ever now. He needs to sleep again. He wonders what the planet Deralia is really like.


End file.
